Untitled
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: (Sorry, couldn't think of a title!) It was what Bodie's military mind would call a 'no win situation'.


The bullets were coming thick and fast. Bodie and Doyle were pinned down by an old oil silo. Where their colleagues were - and how they were faring - the pair didn't know. Their main priority was to keep alive. Bodie threw himself back against the wall, frantically reloading, as his partner kept the gang occupied. There were just too many of them. It was what Bodie's military mind would call a 'no win situation'. He didn't pass that nugget of information to his friend. The pair had been scouting round for a safer haven while trying to get the better of the gang. They'd picked off three or four; they heard their colleagues away over to the left but didn't know what their 'score' was.

"That tractor," Doyle suggested as an alternative bolt hole.

As if hearing him, the fusillade intensified.

"Dear God," Bodie whistled, more to himself, "how much fire power have these bastards got?" He didn't expect an answer and didn't get one.

Bodie assessed the tractor for himself. It had hay bales at the rear ready for loading. He nodded to himself. "Let's try," he agreed as Doyle finished reloading with the last of his ammo.

The route was a dangerous one, it took them past where the gunmen had last been, though they seemed now to have moved round to the left if their last salvo was anything to go by, inching closer to the CI5 team there. The pair crawled slowly on their bellies using boxes and general debris as cover. They hadn't yet been spotted. Alison and Greaves were keeping them busy at their end. En route they found one of the gunmen. Doyle automatically checked for signs of life despite the extremity of their situation. Finding him still alive, he grasped the man's collar and began to drag him along with them. Bodie glanced back and saw what his daft partner was attempting.

"For God's sake, Doyle, leave him," he hissed.

Doyle didn't respond, but continued his determined dragging. Bodie, having given fair warning, ignored his partner. If he wanted to die a saint or a martyr, that was his show. Bodie felt they were in enough trouble as it was. They'd nearly reached the tractor when Doyle yelled a warning. He'd seen a sniper popping up between himself and Bodie who was quite a distance in front now. Bodie froze where he was as he couldn't see Doyle's target. Doyle was on his knees in a firing position in a moment; the gun in his hand there in a heartbeat. There was a brief exchange of fire that Doyle got the better of. He relaxed back down to the floor in case there were others in the vicinity. He'd given away his position by firing, but had no alternative. The threesome - Doyle, Bodie and their casualty - continued on their way. Eventually their destination was reached and Doyle felt that he could get a better look at the gunman's condition. As he shuffled into a better position, another volley of shots were fired. Doyle had no choice but to ignore his casualty for the moment as he and his partner tried to get the upper hand. Both were dancing round the tractor and the bales trying to get better angles. Doyle heard a grunt and a thud as a body hit the ground - Bodie had been hit. Doyle shuffled round, still taking occasional shots. He knew that his ammo was rapidly running out. Bodie was gasping in pain, but trying to keep his emotions under control. Doyle got to one side of him.

"Let's …"

But his first attempt at looking for wounds was suddenly interrupted by a shot over his head. It was very close. Doyle threw himself over his partner in an effort to protect him, firing as he did so. Bodie grunted in agony and tried to retrieve his gun, which was now under his friend's body. The firing stopped once Doyle picked off the sniper. They were safe - for now. Doyle anxiously scanned the area as he pushed himself gradually off Bodie's torso. There were too many places for other gunmen to hide. Doyle checked his gun as Bodie looked on. He only had two bullets left.

"Here," Bodie said, pushing his gun awkwardly into Doyle's hands.

Doyle checked and found that Bodie had six bullets left. Unfortunately the guns weren't compatible. A quick scan of his new casualty, and Doyle found a bullet wound in Bodie's upper arm. He helped his friend off with his tie and used it as a tourniquet. He then ran out of further ideas. Suddenly the fusillade began again. It was as if the surviving gang members had suddenly found a new cache of arms. As Doyle used his last bullets carefully, he threw down his useless weapon and grabbed Bodie's gun. He moved forward into the line of fire. He was drawing them out. With so few bullets, he needed to find his target, not just pin them down. Bodie saw what was in his partner's mind. _You brave bastard_, Bodie thought as he looked on helplessly. Doyle threw debris towards the gang as decoys and was encouraged to see that the men were using their ammo uselessly. However, they were smart and quickly cottoned on to what was happening and stopped firing at the objects thrown at them and concentrated instead on who was doing the throwing. A bullet grazed Doyle's shoulder, but he pressed on and pressed forward. Alison and Greaves were moving towards the fire fight now and joined in. Doyle was encouraged that he was no longer alone. He had used the last of their magazines. it was up to his colleagues now. There was nothing more he could do except lie flat and quiet; praying may be a good idea, too. Then, just as suddenly, the firing stopped. It seemed that the opposition had finally run out of ammo, too. He tentatively crawled backwards towards to his mate.

"You all right?" he asked anxiously, checking the tourniquet.

Bodie looked at him for a while. "You could have got yourself killed doing that, mate," he observed.

"No?!" Doyle retorted facetiously as he made his way to the injured sniper he'd dragged along.

Alison joined them and said that his partner had gone for help. Doyle left him attending to that casualty while he went back to Bodie again.

"I'm shaking like a child," Doyle confessed as he eased the tie over the wound. "I was * scared."

"Me, too, mate, particularly when you had that suicidal look in your eyes. Just take it easy, yeah? 'Replacements are expensive' - Cowley: chapter 3, verse 1."

The men smiled at each other in relief that they'd made it through. The wounded sniper, however, died two days later in hospital.


End file.
